


alpenglow

by deltachye, llumberries



Series: doki wars [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Human/Vampire Relationship, Reader-Insert, Smut, Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex, i guess?, intended as a pwp but it has too much Feeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24640324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye, https://archiveofourown.org/users/llumberries/pseuds/llumberries
Summary: vampire!dimitri alexandre blaiddyd x human!reader.i started writing an au summary until i realized this is supposed to be a pwp lololololol so my world building wouldn't mean anything :(things to look forward to: soft dom!dimitri, biting and blood sucking (obvi), hickeys!, moaning.  also a slight scent drive.credits to @deltachye for helping me figure out some word choice for the 👀👀👀. go check out her stuff!
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Reader, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Reader
Series: doki wars [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815247
Kudos: 81





	alpenglow

**Author's Note:**

> vampire!dimitri alexandre blaiddyd x human!reader.
> 
> i started writing an au summary until i realized this is supposed to be a pwp lololololol so my world building wouldn't mean anything :(
> 
> things to look forward to: soft dom!dimitri, biting and blood sucking (obvi), hickeys!, moaning. also a slight scent drive.
> 
> credits to @deltachye for helping me figure out some word choice for the 👀👀👀. go check out her stuff!

It's difficult for him to remember what came first, the rush of blood in his mouth, or the bed – but he can't bother himself with retrospective thought. All he cares about is you, how your frame is flush against his, snared between his chest and the mattress; your fingers are tangled in his hair, legs are locked around his waist, and moans spill from your mouth like sweet liquor as his fangs puncture your neck.

There are hardly instances in which he finds himself like this: fatigued enough to render his eyes bloodshot, teetering on his legs in an attempt to remain upright, and with a dull, persistent throbbing in his head. In the seldom instances that he is, the only remedy that he resorts to is you: you, with the scent of fresh watermelon, skin the texture of marble with the allure of a distant sun. 

You, with the voice of ecstasy incarnate, eyes with the radiance of gemstones. The mere thought of you is enough to jump-start his senses when he _isn't_ an absolute mess. But when the burn in his throat is about to overtake his rationale, all he cares about is the sensation of you writhing against him, clinging onto his body as if your life depends on it.

" _More,_ " Dimitri rasps. Heeding his demands, you surrender your skin to him. 

Your dealings with him originally began as the mere process of quenching his thirst. However, throughout the course of your relationship, words exchanged dwindled from apologies and admittance of self-consciousness to none at all. This far down the line, the subtleties and cravings shared between the two of you don’t need to be iterated or conveyed through speech. The actions in which both of you commit betray each desire you could ever have.

There is a tug at Dimitri’s shirt which stems from the flexing of your fingers. Your hands, much smaller than his, fist the fabric and he inhales, quietly, while your blood dances over his teeth and runs down his tongue. He tends to your neck with small sucks, using his lips to cushion the pressure of his fangs as they sink further to puncture your vein. While you aren’t one to be extremely vocal in your sessions, he does derive pleasure from the muffled gasps that you emit. It’s endearing for him to hear you, his lover, sound nearly as erotic as he feels.

The collar of your shirt begins to shred as his hands hike down your abdomen, exposing your breasts and stomach. Momentarily, Dimitri detaches from your flesh and braces himself on his forearms, admiring your canvas of skin that he’ll be able to work on for the remainder of the night. He muses about roseate markings on and below the mounds of your breasts, down your stomach, and even on the insides of your thighs; if he inspects your waist carefully enough, he can still spot the hickeys leftover from your session last week.

You attempt to catch your breath in sharp, irregular inhales that he suspects aren't helped by the pressure of his knee that now presses between the divide of your legs. His fingers flitter down to your underwear and slip underneath the fabric to prod at your entrance. It’s as if you see stars, with the way your knee jerks slightly and your eyes flutter at the external provocation tapping at one of the most vulnerable regions of your body. His index and middle fingers enter you gradually, sinking into your body with each breath you intake, and he lowers himself so his mouth is wrapped around the shell of your ear. 

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” Dimitri purrs, tongue leaving fluids where his lips linger. “It will all be worth it, so please wait a bit longer.”

His voice is rough even as he swears this to you – and in the perspective of his appetite, he’s also been waiting (albeit impatiently). He can still taste your blood on the insides of his cheeks from the moments prior, honeyed like fresh fruit. His mental, progressively clearing in comparison to the beginning of tonight’s mischief, regains the sharpness of its psyche, although his body will take a bit longer to reinvigorate itself with your plasma. With a muted exhale, he rewards you for your patience, and the pace at which his fingers pump into you reaches a rhythm that renders you breathless.

“D-Dimitri . . . ” Your face, buried into his shoulder in vain efforts to stifle unwanted whimpers, burns against his body. 

His lips travel to the skin above your jugular vein, tugging at it, pulling and massaging it until it's bruised vermilion. He repeats this process across your body, benevolently marking you with the ends of his fangs as you unravel at his fingertips; once he’s able to ease a third finger into you, Dimitri withdraws from the heat of your figure, and admires his craft with hazy eyes. 

“You’re beautiful,” he mumbles, soothing the back of your head with his free hand and coaxing you to respond to his gaze. “Let me see you like this, please.”

And you, with a quivering sigh, nod. You maintain your focus on his face, biting your lips, as he removes his fingers and reaches for the nightstand, taking a condom from the drawer. His shuffling is brief as he slides the contraceptive over his hardness, as the only thoughts that his headspace produces are of you, and him, connected together. 

Dimitri’s entrance into your core is steady, allowing you to adjust around the girth of his heat as you grasp at his shoulders, timid noises dribbling from your mouth. As he cages your figure between himself and the bed, his mouth finds yours and swallows your soft mewls, claiming them as his own. His hips rock back and forth against you, thrusting, as the noises of your bodies colliding imbue the atmosphere with the unmistakable flavor of coition. Words, although few, are able to be discerned between lip-locking and the exhales you release; with each hitch in your voice as he hilts himself inside of you, the overflow of your endorphins and oxytocin floods his olfactory, and it seems as if he’s lost himself all over again.

The room is full of _you_ : from the wrinkles on the sheets, the strewn utensils on the desk, and the scents making homes out of the air, all of his senses are submerged in the essence of your being. He drowns, willingly, into the depths of your lifeblood, without any regard for ever resurfacing.

His drive into your body increases rhythmically, building into the knot resting near your stomach, and he chews on your neck before feeling your climax around him. Your cries as you come undone are muffled once more, this time by a saccharine kiss to his forehead; following suit, he releases himself inside of you with a pleasurable grunt. His hands, although clammy from your activity, grasps yours as the two of you come down from your highs, giving you light signals of reassurance.

_One, two, three, four, five, six._ Retracting himself, he counts the marks he’s gifted you, skimming his lips soothingly over the punctures left behind.

“You’re the most lovely creature,” he suspires, “that I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

And as the nocturne swallows the sky, he drifts off with only dreams of you.


End file.
